The Things We Do For Love
by LetheSara
Summary: With his pregnant wife unwell, Lucius Malfoy is struck by a thought. He decides to make Narcissa breakfast in bed. He doesn't need help from the house-elves, and knows that it'll be easy. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?  Famous Last Words...


_A/N: This story has been floating around in my head for a few days, and almost didn't get written due to a slight, odd bout of writer's block. But thankfully it did, an, to be honest, I'm quite happy with how it turned out. _

_Once again, if Lucius seems a little out of character, I recommend you read my other stories regarding him, to better understand my approach to the character._

_No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing._

_Enjoy. _

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**The Things We Do For Love**

Lucius Malfoy didn't want to open his eyes.

He didn't often abide by the 'if I can't see it, it doesn't exist' rule, but today he was willing to make an exception.

After all, it was Monday morning.

It was nauseatingly early on Monday morning.

And he didn't particularly want to leave his wife.

It had been exactly three weeks ago that Narcissa had announced to him, if somewhat reservedly, that she was pregnant.

That _they_ were going to have a baby.

It had taken a little while for the news to sink in. They had been trying, without success, for months to conceive a child, and each time disappointment would wash over him when she confirmed that, once again, fate had been unkind. But now, to hear good news after so much bad, he couldn't quite comprehend it at first.

Though when he did, he had been overjoyed. Words could not describe his sheer elation.

He, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, was going to be a father.

But he soon discovered that even such immeasurable joy can fade given time and circumstance.

In the days that had followed, Narcissa had been unwell.

As it turned out, so early on in her first trimester, the baby in her womb was determined to make life a living hell for its mother.

She was barely able to eat and even when she did, she couldn't keep it down for longer than an hour. She was constantly sore and uncomfortable, was having trouble sleeping and was plagued by the most ruthless bouts of morning sickness imaginable.

Once or twice he was sure he'd heard her grumbling to her flat stomach that 'this better be worth it.'

In fact, it had only been in the past day or so that she had been able to both manage and keep down any small measure of breakfast.

He wouldn't readily admit it to anyone other than her, but part of him was worried.

He lifted a single, heavy eyelid and glanced over to his wife.

She was curled into a tight ball, twisted within layers of sheets and blankets, her ivory nightdress only barely visible beneath the mass of coverings.

He smiled to himself.

She was truly remarkable.

He loved her.

He reluctantly dragged that same, single eye, away from Narcissa's sleeping form and glanced at the elaborate silver clock, hung on the vast expanse of wall.

It was just after six in the morning.

He groaned silently.

Technically, he didn't have to be awake until well after half past seven in time to make an appearance at the Ministry, yet try as he may, he couldn't get back to sleep. Not now that his mind was conscious and alert.

He inwardly cursed himself.

He lay there and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity before he was struck by a thought.

He couldn't help but grin at his own ingenuity.

He tossed back his own meagre coverings, after all, it was only fair that he allowed the woman carrying his child temporary custody of his share of the blankets, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb his sleeping wife.

His grey pyjamas rustled silently as he reached for his green dressing gown, his bare feet made no sound as he padded towards the heavy oak door, pausing only to collect his ever loyal wand, and into the deserted hallway.

He strode through the ancient manor with a sly smile on his face as he revised his scheme. It was flawless. Nothing could possibly go wrong. He was sure of it.

Within minutes, his was standing in front of another set of heavy doors, ones which guarded a room he preferred not to enter on most occasions.

Today was not most occasions.

'Dobby.' He summoned the house elf, his voice authoritative as he waltzed into the extensive and remarkably imposing kitchen.

'Master called Dobby, sir?' the creature scampered from its station in reaction to Lucius's order, his high voice wavering slightly.

'Indeed.' He nodded disdainfully. 'There will be no need for you to attend to breakfast this morning.'

'Master?' the house elf looked confused. 'Has Dobby displeased you, sir? Dobby does his best to please Master and Mistress Malfoy, sir!' The panic in his voice was obvious. 'It is Dobby's greatest wish to – '

'Silence.' The command was simple. Lucius didn't raise his voice and didn't threaten him with any form of punishment, but the house elf knew, without a doubt, what would happen if he even thought about disobeying the order.

'There is nothing wrong. I am not displeased. And since I'm feeling particularly merciful today, you will not be required to iron your hands.' He looked down at the creature. 'I require you to relinquish your breakfast duties today. That is all.'

'But Master…' Dobby clasped his hands across his mouth when he realised that he had spoken out of turn. It was too late.

'That. Is. All.' Lucius emphasised with an empty, cold expression. 'Now get out of my sight.'

The house elf bowed low, his nose grazing the floor, and shuffled backwards through the doors and out of the kitchen.

Lucius closed his eyes briefly and sighed. They repulsed him. They truly did. He couldn't understand how creatures so mindless in their servitude could be so foolish.

He glanced around and took a moment to find his bearings in the mostly unfamiliar room. He nodded to himself and, with a flick of his wand, summoned an apron.

'Now…where to begin…' he muttered to himself as he tied the green and white striped strings into a loose bow behind his back.

It truly was an inspired idea, he thought smugly as he glided through the kitchen, scouring cupboards and clanging pots and pans together.

What better way to surprise his wife than making her breakfast in bed?

It was true that he could've just ordered the house elves to do it, but he had the feeling that, somehow, it would be more meaningful if _he_ cooked it.

He went over his plan one last time.

First, he would make her pancakes. After all, everyone loves pancakes.

He remembered back to their honeymoon. They had woken one morning twisted in damp sheets and each other, tired from almost a complete lack of sleep. They had lazed there together, the morning light streaming in through the window, wrapped in each other, and sharing an oversized plate of the most delicious pancakes. They had been absolutely ravenous, and made short work of breakfast, before resuming the previous night's activities, and sedating their _other_ hunger.

He smiled at the memory.

Next on the menu would be French toast, followed by a serving of scrambled eggs and finished with a cup of tea.

Flowers would be needed, of course. He would go and pick a small bunch from the sprawling gardens that accompanied Malfoy Manor, before displaying the entire ensemble elaborately on a decorative platter and levitating the entire thing to their bedroom to surprise her.

It was simple.

He had everything under control.

Or so he thought.

As confident as he was in his assumption of immediate success, he soon discovered that there may or may not be a slight flaw in his overall plan.

Mainly, that he kitchen hated him.

He had begun with the pancakes, as per according to plan. The dry ingredients combined perfectly, causing him no stress, but the egg had slipped in his hand at the most inopportune moment, causing a liberal amount of eggshell to disappear within the batter. He cursed under his breath, and used his wand to gather the remnants of hard shell, and corrected the minor mistake.

Everything else had gone well, right up until he tasted the mix.

It was disgusting.

He didn't know what he'd done wrong. He revised the recipe once more, but was sure he'd followed the steps exactly. Maybe he'd added too much salt? Maybe the milk had gone bad? Thinking back though, he couldn't remember Eye of Newt being a basic staple of all pancake batters.

It didn't matter now.

It was ruined.

He glared evilly at the inanimate substance, willing it to defy him again, but that before he lost his temper completely and threw the full bowl across the length of the bench, causing it to smash and its vile contents to splatter everywhere.

He sighed as he tried to calm himself once more.

_It's alright,_ he reasoned, _that was only one option. _Granted, it was the preferable option, but still, it had only been the first course. He still had plenty of others to fall back on. He wasn't worried, besides, what could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words…

Things went from bad to worse as the morning progressed.

The scrambled eggs ultimately resembled the product of Narcissa's morning sickness, and probably tasted highly similar, though he refused to prove this theory. If he had been a little wiser, he would've considered the incident with the egg in the pancake batter and left them well alone.

But he wasn't paying attention, and the result was another failed attempt at breakfast, another layer of filth on the walls and a slightly angrier Lucius.

He couldn't find the decorative platter he needed, or _any_ form of decorative plate, for that matter, so he was forced to abandon that idea. And he was forced to learn the hard way that there were certain plants in the gardens that didn't appreciate being picked, and weren't willing to go down without a fight.

And don't even get him started on the French toast. He wasn't overly proud at the fact that a grown man had thrown insults, made some choice remarks about its mother and ended up using the Killing Curse on a piece of soggy bread.

So far, the result of an entire morning's work was a soiled kitchen, a furious Lucius Malfoy, a handful of deep scratches, a single, mangled rose, and a cup of rapidly cooling tea.

He sighed. Frustration and desperation evident in equal measures.

Looking around the room, he summoned a slice of bread and, with a flick of his wand, begun to toast it.

He didn't even blink when it burst into flame.

He only sighed once more, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in something that wasn't quite defeat.

Not yet anyway.

With no other options left, he shuffled over to an unassuming cupboard in the corner of the room, and pulled down a rarely touched box of cereal.

He checked the use by date and was relieved when he found that it was still edible. He took a delicate white bowl down from an adjacent cupboard and poured a measure of the packet's contents into the dish.

He glared suspiciously and pointed his wand at it as he took a step back to pour the milk. He _dared_ it to burst into flame as well. When it didn't, he stood there for another moment, just in case. When it still didn't explode in his face, he relented and made to move closer, but instead snapped back and pointed his wand squarely at the bowl once more. Again, _just in case._

Oh Merlin, he was turning into that fool of an Auror, Mad-Eye Moody.

When nothing happened, he had to assume that it wasn't going to do anything too awful and moved to pick up the bowl. He added a spoon, and quickly glanced up at the clock near the kitchen door.

It was twenty past seven. Despite everything going completely and utterly wrong, he still had impeccable timing.

She probably wouldn't even be awake yet.

In one hand he held the cereal, while in his other he carried the mangled rose and the cup of tea. He slowly backed out of the kitchen and, watching his step, carefully walked up the curved staircase, with about as much dignity as a man covered in various food items, whose long blond hair was out of place could muster, which wasn't all that much.

He quietly crept into their bedroom once more and treaded over to her bedside table where he placed his somewhat mediocre offering. He sat down lightly on the edge of the bed next to her and gently stroked her face, causing her to stir.

'Lucius…' she whispered as she opened her eyes, a smile on her face.

'Good morning.' He returned, mirroring her smile.

Even in the morning, blurry eyed and half asleep, she was still beautiful.

'What time is it?' she asked him, her voice louder now as she attempted to throw off some of her coverings and sit up.

'I believe it's time for breakfast.' He returned with a slight, knowing grin. Which, despite everything he'd been through that morning, ought not to have been there. 'This is for you.' He said gently as he touched the half-dead rose into her hand.

She simply smiled at the gesture. It had been too long since Lucius had last given her flowers.

'And,' he coughed nervously, as if clearing his throat. 'I hope you don't mind, but I ordered Dobby to relinquish his duties this morning so I…' He didn't quite know what to expect. So far her expression was pleased and mildly curious, but he wasn't sure how long that would last. 'So I could make you breakfast instead.'

He was right. The look on her face didn't last.

Instead, in its place, a wide grin broke out, lighting up her feminine features.

'You did what?' she asked again, just to make sure she'd heard correctly.

'I made you breakfast.' He answered, still somewhat nervous.

It was only now that she could actually begin to understand her husband's rather odd appearance. Namely, the food stains and the hair out of place. Under any other circumstance, said hair would've remained cemented in place and the very thought that it could out of place would earn anyone a very nearly murderous glare. But today, it was as if he didn't care.

She couldn't help but laugh.

'What?' he asked slightly alarmed.

'You've got something…' she trailed off as she wiped a streak of batter from his cheekbone. He smiled in response, before tugging at the collar of his pyjamas.

'There's something I have to confess Narcissa.' He told her, his head hung low. She stared at him, concern evident in her eyes. 'Things didn't go too well.' He gestured towards her bedside table at the cereal and cold tea, but still she smiled.

'I love it. Thank you honey.' She reached up to kiss him and he met her halfway. Pulling apart, he smiled.

'I love you.'

'I love you too.' She returned as she reached for the bowl of cereal and milk. She still smiled up as him as she took a small mouthful and chewed slowly.

He watched her nervously and felt his stomach twist as he saw her smile fade and a frown quickly take its place. She'd barely swallowed before she'd leapt out of bed and raced to the ensuite bathroom.

As it turned out, her morning sickness hadn't completely disappeared as they'd initially hoped.

He paled as he heard the unmistakable retching sounds, signalling that his wife was currently in the process of emptying the entire contents of her stomach into the expensive toilet bowl.

Worriedly, he stood up and followed her into the bathroom. Moving behind her, he swept up the hair from around her neck and held it securely out of the way.

Though she had finished throwing up, she didn't move. Instead she stayed where she was on the cold tiles, staring into space and looking deathly white. He wiped the sweat from her forehead and leant down to whisper in her ear.

'Does that mean you liked it?'

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_Don't be shy, tell me what you think. Loved it? Hated it? Comments and reviews are always welcome and much appreciated. _


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